Wandering Paths
by ToryTigress92
Summary: Elenor, and her daughter Melia, have always been outcasts. Raised without knowing who her father was, she knows the answer lies in Imladris. When Orcs destroy her town, she is driven there at last. But little does she know the story she is a part of, a tale that has lasted thousands of years, and the path her own story will take.
1. Chapter 1

Wandering Paths

Warnings: some violence

Disclaimer: I own nothing except Elenor and Melia.

_**A/N: **_**So this is a short ten chapter story that popped into my head and has refused to let go. This is set during the first Hobbit movie, about six months before the Company reaches Rivendell. This isn't entirely canon faithful but honestly tell me what you think. This is a tale of misconceptions and misunderstandings, of finding your identity and deciding your future, and the fear such choices can evoke. Now I'll stop rattling on and please, enjoy!**

**P.S I'll be updating every Saturday, and I have 4/10 chapters written already with the rest plotted out. **

* * *

They came in the dead of night.

Elenor was shaken from her sleep by the screams and the ghastly yowls of the Wargs as she fell from her cot. Across the room, Melia too sprang from her bed, her eyes wide and her hair ruffled from sleep. With barely a word between them, they scrambled for the weapons that always lay in readiness beneath their cots, and rushed outside.

The moon waxed above them but Elenor could have cursed its light that night. The scene before her was enough to freeze her blood and fill her mouth with bile. Their town was aflame, the huts and homesteads of the townspeople glowing as brightly as the stars above them. Wargs, savage and bloodthirsty, prowled the land while Orcs scrambled from house to house, laughing and snarling as they hunted down their prey.

_The damn fools. I told them we needed more protection than a mere wooden fence! _The thought rushed through Elenor's mind but she cast it aside sternly. Now was not the time for such recriminations. The Wargs and the Orcs were concentrating on the eastern side of the town, which explained why their hut had not been attacked yet. In the confusion of the smoke and fire, she could see Eadwine and the small group of warriors in their town trying to repel the invaders but they were fast tiring. Many had already fallen, startled as they were from sleep, and the sentries overcome without a sound of warning. The screams filled the air, echoing in Elenor's head, and she fought within herself for the courage to move.

"Mother!" Melia's voice pierced through the fear and prompted Elenor to move, the heat of the flames thawing her frozen blood and awakening the long-suppressed courage of her race. She drew her bow from its quiver and set an arrow to the string. Its make was crude but its aim was true, as she quickly sent two arrows into the side of the nearest Warg, its dying howl drawing the notice of its fellows.

"Melia! Take Daeroch! Get the women and children out!" she shouted to her daughter, as the golden-haired girl nodded and rushed off into the flames towards where the horses of the town were screaming in fear of the flames and the Wargs. A pang of fear and uncertainty plagued her for a moment, but she forced herself to focus on the wave of Orcs and Wargs rushing towards her. At least Melia would avoid the worst of the fighting this way, and thanks to Eadwine and Doron and the others, she knew how to defend herself. As did Elenor.

Her will set now; she raised another arrow to her bowstring, taking careful aim. She managed to take down three of the five Orcs rushing towards her before she was forced to abandon her bow and draw her sword. Her stance was unrefined and her sword, as it swung through the air, was rough and imprecise but it would do to keep herself alive. She heard a shout of her name but ignored it as she was accosted by another Orc, a swarthy creature with long, crushing arms that leapt at her with a string of foul-sounding words and an already bloodied blade.

Thought of whose blood awakened an enraged fire in Elenor's veins as she fought on, the heat of the flames at her back and to her right unable to match the fire of hatred in her heart for these foul creatures. She thanked the Valar that she habitually wore leggings beneath her sleeping shift, so her movement was little impeded by her clothing.

She heard a scream, a child's, from the house to her right and her heart sank as she recognised it as Eadwine's. Retrieving her sword from where it rested in the belly of an Orc, she rushed towards the burning building, glimpsing Eadwine following in her train, his face a rictus of fear and despair. Miriel and Daewen, their newborn daughter, were inside. Elenor could just glimpse them through the flames and the smoke, Miriel trying to shift the debris from fallen roof beams that barred her escape with Daewen still in her arms. There was a small gap, too small for a mother and a child to slip through, but Elenor alone was small enough. Throwing aside her weapons, she shoved her way into the gap partway, holding out her hands for Daewen.

"Give her to me!" she called, as the younger woman hesitated. Elenor wanted to roll her eyes but forced herself to remain cool, as the roof creaked alarmingly above them, as the flames rose higher and the air became ever more choking. "There's no time for this! Give her to me and crawl through after us!" Elenor shouted over the howling and the screams, as the tortured wood gave its death-rattle. Miriel thrust the newborn baby into her arms, and Elenor managed to wiggle her way backwards in a very undignified manner, and out into the open air. Thrusting Daewen into Eadwine's arms, she reached for Miriel's hands, pulling her through just as the roof collapsed inwards and sparks flew up as the greedy flames were given more fuel.

Elenor panted, her lungs screaming for air, her hands on her knees. The sounds of the fighting died down for a moment as she sought inside herself for that small, serene place within her, her retreat from danger and pain in times of trouble, that had kept her sane throughout her life, and forced her breathing to slow and deepen, ignoring her body's instinct. The world slowed and she opened her eyes, calm and cool once more, to find Miriel and Eadwine watching her guardedly. "Thank you, Elenor," Eadwine said at last, and Elenor gave a terse nod.

"Get to the West gate. Melia is rounding up the woman and the children there," she replied shortly.

"You should go with them, my Lady," Eadwine murmured reluctantly, before Elenor simply eyed him narrowly and turned her back, back to the fight where she was needed.

They had been attacked by two packs of Wargs and Orcs, and the majority still roamed, looking for fresh prey. Elenor hid behind a still unburned hut, Eadwine and a group of ten men at her side. "We can't hold out against them," she breathed. Their town was too isolated, too removed from help, and there would be more Orc-packs to come join their fellows in the slaughter. "Gather what supplies you can, and rescue the horses, then find Melia. We have to leave."

"We cannot leave! This is our home! We must fight!" Doron objected fiercely, his pale blue eyes reflecting the light of the flames.

"If we stay, we will die with our houses. We must go while the Orcs are distracted!" Elenor replied heatedly. "There's nothing more we can do."

Doron looked ready to strike her but Eadwine cut across them both with a gesture. "Lady Elenor is right. We must leave now," he snapped, already turning aside and hugging the shadows to avoid being seen. Elenor didn't waste time on the others, but heard Doron curse her name, as she crept away to her own hut.

She didn't care. She'd heard plenty of curses since the day she was born.

* * *

Inside her hut was calm and still, the noise of the attack dimmed by the thick curtain just inside the door. Elenor wasted no time, going for the two packs and saddlebags that sat beside her bed, before packing as much food and clothing as she could into them. She tucked her shift into her leggings, pulled on boots over her bloodied feet, ignoring the sting of her wounds, then slung a jerkin and cloak over the top. She slung her quiver at her back once more, belting her scabbard to her waist, before lunging for the small box underneath her cot. She snatched up the contents, a folded, much crinkled rectangle of parchment and a ring on a chain, slipping the chain around her neck before she left the hut without a backwards glance.

Outside the screams had stopped and the snarls of the Wargs and the filthy Orcs were all that remained to be heard above the crackle of the hungry flames they had set. Elenor spared barely a glance for the burning town, as she crept along in the shadows, hiding her hair beneath the hood of her cloak. She saw the West Gate ahead of her and broke cover, only slightly impeded by the heavy saddlebags and packs she'd slung on her back.

For one terrifying, pounding moment, she feared the Orcs had seen her or the Wargs had scented her, but she made it through unscathed and out into the sheltering darkness of the surrounding land. Reeds soon smothered the sound of her footfalls, and the town receded into the distance, a burning crown on the horizon. She could hear no other survivors but suppressed the fear that she was alone. Melia would have survived, she had to survive, she had to…

She heard a shout and a curse, and rushed towards it, recognising Eadwine's brusque tone. "Eadwine!" she hissed, uncertain if there were any more Wargs or Orcs lurking outside the town to fear.

"My lady?" Eadwine replied quietly, and she could make out his dark bulk in the shadows. The moon was waning and the darkest hours of the night would soon be upon them. "I can barely see you."

Elenor had always been able to see well in the dark. "Follow me. Melia and the others will be waiting for us upstream," she told him quickly. It had been chosen as their meeting place if ever anything befell the town. She sensed Eadwine nod and fall in beside her, and couldn't stop herself from asking, "Why do you call me 'Lady' now? You've never called me that before."

"Only because your grandsire forbade it. Tonight, you have earned that title tenfold, I almost thought your grandsire, old Arahael, had returned to us," he replied and Elenor hid her shock, and slight displeasure at being compared to her grandsire, glad it was too dark for any to see her face.

"Unfortunately Doron does not agree with you," she remarked wryly.

"Fear not, my lady. I, and those loyal to me, will support you now," Eadwine said firmly, and Elenor nodded though he could not see her. Once they had found the others, they would need to discuss what to do next. They could not remain and rebuild the town. No doubt the Wargs and Orcs would return if they attempted such a course of action, but where could they go?

The parchment tucked into her jerkin rustled against her skin, whispering an ancient name to her. She had an odd feeling that their course was already decided, and now she just needed to convince the others of it. Eadwine's promise soothed her worries, but Doron and the others might prefer to make for the Gap of Rohan and the safety of King Fengel's realm.

As their feet began to sink into the reedy pools of the Swanfleet, Elenor finally spoke, testing the waters and the strength of Eadwine's commitment. "We will make for Imladris."

There was a slight pause, and then Eadwine's steady, firm, "As you command, my lady."

_Well, wonders will never cease_, she thought as she trudged on, trying to ignore the icy-cold waters now seeping into her boots. _Who knew it would take the death of Arahael and the destruction of our town for them to stop treating me as a pariah?_

As they walked ever further into the fens of Swanfleet, Elenor could not hold back a slight chuckle at the thought.

* * *

When they finally found Melia, they discovered she had managed to gather together a goodly number of their womenfolk and children, forty all told. Of the men, Elenor could see only a handful in comparison and there was much weeping among the women. When Melia saw her mother emerge from the darkness, she left Daeroch and rushed to embrace her, and Elenor held her close. Out of all the things in this wretched world she had been born into, Melia was the most precious and her only joy. She stroked her daughter's golden hair, silvered by the moonlight, and held her close for a moment longer before releasing her, watching from afar as Eadwine was reunited with Miriel and Daewen.

"How are they all faring?" Elenor asked Melia as she went to tend to Daeroch, the great black Rohirric stallion standing on one of the few spaces of firm ground, strong and unafraid of the howls and the screeches of the Orcs only a few miles distant. His sire had been a wedding gift from Elenor's husband, and his foal was now her mount, both named for their dark coats and quiet footfalls.

"Well enough, I'd wager," Melia replied quietly, as Elenor handed a pack to her and she gratefully began to exchange her flimsy shift for warmer clothing. "We managed to gather together some supplies but not enough to last long. The women grieve for their men, the children are too tired and shocked to know what to think."

"You have done well, Melia," Elenor smiled at her. "For a moment, I feared you had not escaped."

Melia smiled, her teeth flashing in the moonlight. "They tried to waylay me but I think they were not prepared for a young girl fighting back. Daeroch kept me safe also."

"Whatever happened, I am glad of it," her mother smiled back, as her eyes met those of Eadwine's once more, and he nodded. She inclined her head in return, as he turned away from his wife and child to call to the others and the few men who had survived the attack, calling on them to gather their few burdens and march onwards. There were only a handful of horses, and so Elenor permitted Daeroch to be loaded with their scant baggage and atop him rode two of the children, now orphans, Barawen and her brother Barador.

They walked, not daring to look back at the remains of their town where the Orcs now feasted and glutted themselves, as the cold dawn approached. Elenor trusted to the fens to conceal their trail, but feared for the horses as the pools grew deep and sometimes they stepped into muddy chasms that sucked them down to their fetlocks. But they managed somehow, forcing themselves onwards, as the first cold fingers of light reached across the darkling sky, and the sun began to rise. And hope began to bloom once more in Elenor's heart.

It took them until noon to get out of the fens of Swanfleet, and after they had put another few miles between them and the fens, they stopped for a rest beside the Hoarwell, bathing their soot-darkened faces, and tending to their few beasts and the wounded. Elenor did what she could, but she was no healer.

Melia cared for the children who had lost their parents, keeping them amused with childhood tales of errant warriors and fair maidens from the ancient times. Elenor kept an eye on her as she went around, seeing to the people's needs, but she seemed unaffected by the events of the night and the loss of the only home she'd ever known. Her long golden hair fell unbound down her back, above the worn but hardy green travel cloak, a pack and her bow and quiver by her feet, a dark grey scarf knotted around her neck, and to all appearances she appeared a true daughter of the Rohirrim. Her deep green eyes were the only sign that she was of mixed heritage, and maybe that was why the children were so at ease around her. Elenor was so used to being an outcast that she never noticed anymore when the children shied away from her, or the women whispered, or the men sneered.

They didn't whisper or sneer anymore.

Word of her deeds in the town's defence had spread and a new respect, along with a new wariness, now lived in their eyes. Well, except maybe for Doron and his friends.

As she finished on her rounds, she paused by Miriel and Daewen, the younger woman nursing the hungry infant at her breast. Feeling Elenor's gaze, she looked up, her dark hair falling away from her pretty features, and smiled slightly. And nodded, just once, but gone was the fear and the unease Elenor had always known from her.

Elenor had a feeling her new popularity would not hold for long, once their destination became known. But her people needed shelter and aid, and Imladris was the closest settlement by some miles. It would take days to reach Rohan, days they did not have, and there was a far greater risk of running into an Orc-pack. They would not survive another attack.

And Elenor possessed her own reasons for wishing to go to Imladris. As she knelt by the riverbank, careful not to slip into its fast-running depths, she thought of the letters tucked into her jerkin and the ring on a chain around her throat.

She'd had them ever since her mother had died, twenty years before. They had been her only inheritance, her only clue as to the truth of her origins, only guessed at in overheard snatches of gossip, and the insults thrown at her, and the coldness of her grandsire. Elenor had never known her father, and her mother had never spoken of him. Her grandsire's edicts had made the subject a forbidden one in the town, but even then, Elenor had still heard rumours. Whispered words and strange names that were forbidden knowledge to both her and Melia, since until her grandsire's death two years before, he had kept them ignorant.

Words like elf-born, changeling, bastard, elf-child…

For the sake of her daughter, and herself, Elenor could only hope the answers lay in Imladris.

Elenor could not truly read, but her mother had pointed out the words Imladris and Lord Elrond to her when she had passed the letters and the ring into her keeping, the cursive Elven script unfamiliar and hypnotic to her eyes, even now. The ring was a simple, if beautiful, piece; intricately carved. It was made of what looked to be plain silver, but it shone with a radiance no silver could match, with a chased design of a tall tree upholding a crown of stars, inset with tiny diamonds. She'd had no idea of its worth, but had kept it hidden since it was too conspicuous, and too large for her fingers, to risk wearing.

As Elenor splashed her face with water, gasping at the cold, she met the eyes of her reflection in the clear water. She was pale and still youthful at two and thirty years of age, her bright, curly red hair as vibrant as a flame against the dark greens and browns of her travelling gear. She'd been wedded at fourteen, had given birth at fifteen, and seventeen years later she still looked barely a day beyond her adolescence. The other women of her age were beginning to wither and age, due to the hard life they lived in isolation in the desolate lands between the sea and the Misty Mountains. But not she, and that was much of the cause of the unease and fear among the woman of the town.

_What am I?_

Not for the first time in her life, the thought rang in her head, and she closed her eyes to her reflection, reaching up and behind her to blindly braid her hair into some semblance of neatness.

She had never belonged in their town, never. The feeling had only worsened after her mother had died and she was unshielded from her grandsire, Arahael's, displeasure and loathing. Thoughts of her true origins had been the only thing to keep her sane during the few years of her unhappy marriage, from Melia's birth to Breyor's death, and they plagued her ever more now.

* * *

"Mother?" Melia's soft voice drew her from her reverie, and she opened her eyes as she felt gentle fingers bat hers aside and take over the braiding of her hair. "You always get it tangled."

"Whatever would I do without you?" Elenor smiled, eying her daughter over her shoulder as she worked quickly and carefully, removing the rough braids Elenor had managed, and tying the curly mass back with a loop of leather, before separating the tail into three sections and braiding each one. Forced into abeyance, the braids reached the small of her back.

"Oh, you would manage, as you've always done," Melia replied in jest, and the smile faded from Elenor's face. Sometimes she wondered.

Melia had no memory of her father, and Elenor thanked the Valar for that. Breyor had been a harsh, rough man, always cruel and dismissive of his wife who he had married for her dowry and her exotic ancestry. The vaunted nobility of the Rohirrim had been apparently misplaced in him, but not so in his daughter. Melia was good, kind and loving, with a valiant heart and a free spirit. She bore the looks of the Horse-Lords, but her heart was that of her mother's, and grandmother's, people, the Dunedain. There had always been an air of ethereality about her that had made her stand apart from the townsfolk, as her mother before her, and neither had ever quite belonged.

As for her grandsire, well who could say?

As Melia finished tying the last of the braids, Elenor opened her eyes and turned to her with a knowing smile, sensing the curiosity in her daughter's heart. "Well? Do we go to Imladris?" Melia asked at last, with all the impetuosity of a child despite her seventeen years.

"We do," Elenor replied.

* * *

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

Wandering Paths

Warnings: some violence and one instance of profanity.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except Elenor and Melia.

* * *

They had been travelling for a month when Elenor began to sense that their goal was close. No one knew the exact location of Rivendell, bar that it lay in a valley close to the foot of the Misty Mountains upstream of the Bruinen River, but as the land changed from flat fenlands and grasslands to wooded hills, only just coming into flower for spring, Elenor felt a strange sense of rightness, of belonging growing ever stronger the further north they went. She didn't need to ask if Melia felt it too; her daughter walked every day as if in a dream, an expectant smile on her face.

The others were less enthused by their journey north. It had only been Eadwine's support that had swayed them in the end, that and her assertion that she was their rightful leader as the granddaughter of Arahael.

Their journey had not been easy. There were more dangers than Orcs or Wargs in the Wild, and they lost two of the children and their midwife, Naina, to a fever as they walked through trackless lands up the Bruinen, and that had been a hard loss. All of them were weakened by long days of wandering, their food nearly gone and their spirits ebbing just as low. They needed to find some sign soon, or Elenor knew she would lose her people. She knew some, who'd had family in Dale before the Dragon came, wished to go further north to Laketown, and that some, like Doron, wished to travel South-East to Rohan. It had only been her assertion that they could not reach there with barely five mounts and fifty people, mostly women and children, without aid that had turned Doron from his path. The rest agreed to the journey because the path to Rivendell also joined the path to Laketown.

But she needed to find Imladris soon, or they would all turn on her and Melia.

That day they'd covered fifteen miles before the waning of the afternoon, and Elenor was satisfied. They stopped in a copse of trees not far from the Bruinen and set to make what supper they could from their meagre supplies. They'd come across no towns or villages, and no other fellow travellers in the Wild, and there had been no chance to replenish their supplies. At least with the Bruinen so close, they'd been in no danger of running out of water.

As Elenor lifted two of the children down from Daeroch, they shyly thanked her and ran off to where Miriel and some of the others were organising food while the men gathered firewood. Elenor caught Melia's eye, and the young girl crossed to the clearing to her side, her hood raised against the threat of drizzle from the grey clouds above their heads. Both she and Melia were decent hunters since often enough, that had been their only source of food after they lost her husband's protection when he died. Arahael had had no interest or use for either of his descendants and had left them to starve. Elenor, and eventually Melia, had ensured that hadn't happened.

With a word to Eadwine, who grudgingly acquiesced to their joining the hunting party, the two women slipped from the camp and quickly jogged across the open plains beyond to the next copse of trees, their bows strung and their arrows ready, searching for any sign of deer or other game. Eadwine and his men would search to the West, towards the Bruinen, while Elenor and Melia went to the East.

The ground was wet and soft, and the wind was in the North. It did not take long to find deer tracks, as Melia and Elenor followed its trail deeper into the strip of woodland they'd found, the air silent as a tomb around them.

It was the silence that irked Elenor. No woodland should be that silent, and yet it was, and she could not shake the feeling that they were being watched. She glanced sideways to find Melia seemingly affected also, her eyes darting around them with the alertness of a hunter. "Stay on your guard. We are not alone," Elenor whispered, drawing the string of her bow back, readying it for combat. Momentarily regretting the deer they'd been hunting, the two women began to slowly move back through the copse, hands on their bowstrings, eyes alert and unrelenting in their search for their pursuers.

Elenor felt no fear, however. Her heart was not leaden in her chest, her gut did not roil, the way it had when the Orcs attacked their town. Instead she felt a surge of anticipation, of exhilaration so intense it felt like her skin rippled with it. "Mother, do you think…?" Melia broke the silence, coming to a halt and lowering her bow. She had no need to finish her sentence, as Elenor too halted and lowered her bow.

Taking a deep breath, she returned her arrow to its quiver and stepped forward to speak. "We know that you are there. We mean the Elves of Imladris no harm; we seek only audience with the Lord Elrond. We come bearing tokens of interest to him, and we ask his aid and protection for us and the others that follow us…"

A group of figures seemed to melt from the trees, and both Melia and Elenor started. They were all tall and clad in shades of green, grey and brown, to better blend into the woodlands and the plains, and they all bore long hair of varying shades, and both women were entranced as one stepped forward. He was an Elf, tall, golden and beautiful, his eyes watching them intently, a sword unsheathed in his hand. "Fair words, my lady," he called to them, courteously but Elenor sensed the danger beneath his polite mask. Here was a deadly warrior, and they were being considered. Whether as threats or as friends, she could not guess. His eyes seemed to pierce her, but she remained calm under his scrutiny, hoping that Melia did the same. "At first we thought you merely refugees, fleeing to the North, but when you did not cross the Bruinen or turn either East or West, we began to watch and to follow you. You are very near the borders of Imladris; you speak of aid and protection, and of interesting tidings for my Lord Elrond. If so, name yourselves and tell me your tale, so I may judge if you are truthful or not."

"My name of Elenor, daughter of…" she faltered for a moment, then her voice strengthened. "Daughter of Liril."

"And I am Melia, daughter of Breyor and Elenor," Melia spoke beside her, her voice clear and calm, as Elenor glanced at her in surprise.

The Elves appeared startled by their names, and they looked upon them with new interest. "You bear names in the Elvish custom," the lead Elf commented. "Such customs were also practiced by the Dunedain of old."

"It is believed among my family that we can reckon our line back to Gildor, of the House of Beor, one of the twelve companions of Barahir and Beren Erchamion," Elenor admitted. "But what of yours, my lord? If we are to be judged, then we have some right to know the name of our judge."

The Elf stared at her, and then laughed, his fellows joining in. Elenor resisted the urge to fold her arms in defiance, feeling Melia stir beside her, but she remained silent.

Finally the Elves' levity died, and their leader once again spoke. "You are proud and unafraid, my lady Elenor, and in any case you are right. I am Glorfindel, and I serve the Lord Elrond. If I may, I wish to see these 'tokens' that bid you seek an audience with the Lord of Imladris."

He sheathed his sword, and took a step toward them. Elenor unstrung her bow and stowed it in her quiver, before reaching into her jerkin for the letters and the ring she always kept close to her heart. Reverently, she handed them over to Glorfindel, while Melia watched them with expectant eyes.

"The letters bid me seek Imladris. They were given to me by my mother before her death," Elenor explained, while the Elf-lord examined her ring with interest. He showed no sign of surprise or realisation, and her heart sank, as his eyes perused the letters next. "Our town was attacked a month ago and the few survivors escaped into the fens. We were far from aid or hope of it, and we desperately require shelter to heal and rest before my people decide their next steps."

"We do not often have dealings with strangers, especially mortals," he replied, still polite, but cool.

"We are not just any mortals. There are those among us of Dunedain descent," Elenor argued carefully. "Or do the old claims of kinship have no hold any more? Will you not at least take me to Lord Elrond that I may present my case to him personally?"

"You speak hastily, my lady," Glorfindel interrupted her. "I had not finished. I judge that you are sincere and not sent with evil intent. Some other fate, perhaps."

"Will you help us?" Melia spoke beside her, after remaining silent for so long. Elenor had been so intent on her conversation with the Elf that she'd almost forgotten her presence.

"I will do what I can without further permission from my Lord," he replied gravely. "Some of my host will remain with your people for the night, until we receive messages granting you shelter or nay. If your daughter will remain to explain to your people."

Elenor glanced at Melia, who looked disgruntled at not being permitted to accompany her mother, but she nodded. "Meanwhile, I shall escort you to Imladris so you may make your request," Glorfindel finished with an incline of his magnificent head to Elenor. The Elves moved quickly, some disappearing into the trees once more, and Elenor heard the soft neighing of horses while Melia stowed her bow and arrow back in her quiver. Elenor turned to her, and she embraced her tightly.

"Be safe, my mother," she whispered. "I will tell Eadwine what has occurred here."

"Thank you, Melia. Be safe and I shall see you soon," Elenor replied, stroking a stray strand of hair back from her face. Melia nodded and walked away to join a group of six Elves that Glorfindel was sending back with her to guard, and to help where they could, their people while Elenor was away. Glorfindel retained two of his company while the rest were sent on to finish their patrol.

"This way, my lady," Glorfindel gestured to the treeline. Elenor took a deep breath, suddenly feeling a hand of iron clutch her gut with fear, and followed Glorfindel.

Three horses remained in a small clearing a mile away from the copse, all grey, tall and proud. Glorfindel led her to the largest and proudest, stroking the stallion's strong neck fondly. "His name is Asfaloth and he has guided me on many dangerous ventures. He will take us, swift and sure, to the Hidden Valley."

"He is magnificent," Elenor admitted, in awe. Glorfindel helped her mount, then leapt up beside her. She was unused to riding Elvish style, and the lack of saddle or harness disorientated her for a moment. Glorfindel chuckled softly.

"Fear not! Asfaloth will not let you fall," he assured her, before she felt him reach around her and then suddenly a band of fabric obscured her sight.

"What are you doing!? She exclaimed, a sudden panic overwhelming her. "How can I ride like this?"

"Do not be afraid," he murmured. "But until such time as the Lord Elrond has granted your petition, we must conceal the entrance to the Hidden Valley from you. I apologise for it but it must be done. You will not fall."

"Well…if I must," Elenor sighed. The Elf's arms came around her waist, and she relaxed only marginally, as he cried aloud to the Elf-horse, and it sprang away.

* * *

Time blurred into a dark eternity, filled only with the sound of rushing wind, hoof-beats and the feel of Glorfindel's arms around her waist. Asfaloth seemed to have no need of direction, for there were no reins and Glorfindel did not speak again while their journey lasted.

Elenor's sharp hearing detected the slow change in terrain, from grassland and forest to stony paths, and light gently pierced through her blindfold. A delicious scent filled her nostrils, and she truly relaxed for the first time in months. No, years even.

She did not know for how long she rode with Glorfindel, but it felt far longer than she'd expected before the great Elf-horse began to slow his gait, from gallop to trot, and she could hear the smoother sound of hoof-beats on carved stone, and the light grew stronger. Suddenly the folds of fabric over her eyes tightened and then fell away, and Elenor blinked away the sudden sun blindness until her eyes recovered. What she saw defied description.

They were trotting down a narrow causeway towards a great house, set back into the walls of the valley, surrounded by trees and fair gardens. Elenor could hear singing and laughter above the roar of the waterfall not far away, as the Bruinen thundered away beneath them. They rode across a bridge guarded by two stone-carved Elvish warriors, their faces implacable and noble. And permeating everything was that golden light that had pierced her blindfold.

All her fear and her worries melted away, and a sense of rightness, of belonging, washed over her like the gentle waves of the Sea. And on the steps beyond the statues, that led up into the great house, stood an Elf clad in amber robes accentuated with gold, his dark hair falling down his back, unchecked but for a golden diadem on his forehead. Infinitely old he seemed to her, and yet his face was as youthful as a man in the prime of his youth. His gaze was fastened on her with all the piercing intensity of a hawk, and she shivered, sensing an aura of power that she did not sense in Glorfindel or the other Elves, or rather a power of a different kind.

Lord Elrond Halfelven, mighty among Elves and Men. And if legend spoke true, her kinsman. Elenor's heart beat fast in her breast, but she did not look away from the Elven Lord even as she dismounted Asfaloth.

As she stood there before one of the wisest and oldest beings in Middle-Earth, she felt rustic and uncultured. She did not know if she should bow or what greeting she should give. She knew no Elvish.

"My Lord Elrond," she breathed at last, conscious of the eyes of the other Elves on her at all times. "It is a great honour to meet you at last."

"_Le suilon, _Elenor, daughter of Liril. Welcome to Imladris, or as it's known in the Common Tongue, Rivendell," he replied gravely but courteously. Elenor bowed her head, before taking a single step forward.

"My Lord, I know it may be…impertinent of me to come here, uninvited and unwanted, but I need your help and your guidance. May we speak further?" she asked.

"My messengers have informed me of your desire to speak with me. Come, we shall talk further and I shall see if I can aid you," Elrond said, holding out a hand to her and gesturing for her to precede him up the stairs. Elenor felt suddenly ashamed of her worn travel gear, but refused to let it cow her. She walked up the stairs into the Last Homely House with her head held high.

* * *

Melia sighed with frustration as she explained what had happened again. Ever since she had returned to their camp with the Elves, it had been one tedious round of questions after another. She tried to answer them with equanimity and patience, but some were trying both qualities more than others. Doron, in particular.

"As I have already said. My mother has been granted an audience with the Lord Elrond and has been escorted to Imladris to request their aid," she stated firmly. Doron scoffed even as Eadwine looked sceptical and concerned.

"I still think she should have returned here and taken council with us. At the very least, she should have returned and taken someone else along," he murmured, as Melia sought inside herself for more patience than she knew she'd possessed.

"There was no time. But that is why the Elves returned with me, to inform you and give what aid they can in the meantime," she replied repressively. She didn't like anyone questioning her mother.

"More likely she's abandoned us. How do we know these Elves will not simply turn on us while we sleep!?" Doron retorted slyly. "We should have made for Rohan while we had the chance instead of following the lead of the Lady Elenor," he continued scornfully.

"Do not speak ill of the Elves!" Melia returned fiercely, her hands curling into fists. "All you expose now is your ignorance, Doron. My mother would never abandon us, and the Elves will not harm us. We will remain here until we hear news from my mother."

"You have no right to command me, 'Lady Melia'," Doron snarled threateningly. "You ill-begotten witchling! You're no more trustworthy than your whore of a mother!"

"That's enough!" Eadwine broke into the argument before Melia could reply, incensed by his insults towards her mother and herself. "Do not speak ill of the Lady Elenor, or the Lady Melia. If you ever speak so again, I will gut you myself!"

Doron stiffened but stalked off, his face creased with age. Melia watched him go, feeling her anger fade, but only slightly. For as long as she could remember, they had borne such insults, openly while her great-grandsire still lived although they had lessened when he died. Like her mother, she longed to understand why they stood so apart from the rest of their people.

Especially Doron. He was distantly descended from the Dunedain, as she was, but he could not be more ignoble and mistrusting. Whatever wisdom and lore once lived in their people, Melia feared it was dying with every generation. She wondered how Arahael, Doron, Miriel and the others of Dunedain descent had come to be so far from their ancestral lands. What darkness or despair had driven their ancestors from their homelands?

Eadwine, though, was good and loyal even if she knew he harboured some doubts about their goal and the Elves. He was of Rohirric descent, as she was on her father's side, and she knew that strange tales and evil superstitions about the Elves reigned freely in that land. Melia herself knew next to nothing of them, since such talk had been forbidden by her great-grandsire. She knew a handful of old tales, whispered to her by her mother in her childhood, but nothing more. She'd never understood Arahael's edicts forbidding use of the Elvish tongue and learning of the Elvish histories. Were not Dunedain supposed to be friends of the Elves? Even akin to them, through the unions of Beren and Lúthien, Tuor and Idril, and Earendil and Elwing of old?

Melia thrust her questions away, looking forward to the day she would not have to do so, and turned to Eadwine as he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Pay Doron no heed," he said. "He is bitter and haunted by the loss of our homes. We trust in you, and your mother, to keep us safe."

"Thank you Eadwine," she murmured gratefully, although she doubted his words. Some did not trust her or her mother. "You should take some rest now we're so well-guarded."

"Aye, I think I will," Eadwine nodded, after a slight hesitation. He began to turn away, before he turned back and grasped her shoulders. "Do not speak too closely with these Elves, Melia. We still do not know their full purpose. Tis said it is perilous to seek too close ties with the Eldar race."

"I am in no danger from them," Melia replied quietly. Oh, she knew the Elves were dangerous of course, but not to her. As her mother had done, the moment they'd stepped from the trees and revealed themselves, she'd felt nothing but safe with them. Only instilled caution of a life lived on the outskirts of their community had kept her hand on the bowstring.

Eadwine did not look convinced, but he said no more as he turned away and walked to join his wife and daughter by the campfire. Melia watched them go, conscious of a presence at her elbow.

"_Mae l'ovannen_, Lady Melia," a male voice spoke beside her, but it was nothing like the voices of Men. It was strong and beautiful and musical, like a stream coursing through rolling hills, both an exhilarating shock and a cool pleasure, to her ears. "I am Elladan, son of Lord Elrond."

"I am honoured to meet you, my lord," Melia replied as she turned to face him fully, glancing over him intently. He was tall, as were all Elves, fair of face and of form, with long dark hair that reached the small of his back, restrained into an Elvish braid. A sword was at his hip, a bow and quiver at his back. She looked over to the other Elves, stood in a group, looking around with alert eyes. They'd offered what help Melia had been able to persuade the others to accept, and they had offered to hunt for them when night fell, but she noticed they held themselves apart. _Much like we…like the others do_, Melia could not help but think, her eyes darting back to Elladan. "Is there something you wanted to ask…?"

"Nay, nay," he smiled, shaking his head slightly. "I wished only to make your acquaintance. You are intriguing mortals, my lady, you and your mother both. Of the Dunedain and yet not. There is something else to you, my lady, beyond my ability to perceive."

"I do not know what it is. Neither does my mother," she added for good measure. "If it were not for the raid on our town, we might never have come at all."

She closed her eyes as involuntary memories flashed across her mind's eye, and she flinched. She had not let her mother see, but the things she had seen and done and heard during the raid haunted her dreams and her thoughts when she did not guard them well enough. Sometimes she awoke, cold with sweat and fear, but she had always been able to hold in her screams so she did not wake the others. For others, she knew they hadn't the strength to do the same.

"Forgive me, my lady," Elladan pulled her from her dark thoughts, and she blinked, suddenly reminded of the warm sunlight on her face and the life all around her. "I stirred up unpleasant memories with my words. I did not mean to do so."

"I know you did not, there is nothing to forgive," Melia replied softly, with a gentle smile. Searching for a new topic, she seized on the implication in his words. "You know of the Dunedain?"

"Yes, I do. I have travelled and fought with them for many years since my brother and I came of age," he explained, as they unconsciously drifted towards one of the fires and sat down by its edge.

"Would you tell me about them?" she asked. "I know almost nothing of my own people."

With a slight hesitation, Elladan smiled and began to speak, and Melia found herself listening to every word, enraptured, so much so, she barely noticed the passing of the afternoon towards evening.

* * *

Elrond led Elenor into a long wide hall, the marble floor echoing under her boots. The afternoon sun stretched, golden and warm, into the room, gilding the tall columns carved to look like trees, gleaming white and cream and gold. The walls were painted with many images and Elenor found herself longing to stop and study them. There was a palpable air of knowledge, of power and ancient wisdom in the air, and Elenor found herself inhaling it greedily.

_I could belong here…_

The thought came quickly and almost as quickly it left once more, startling her even as Elrond led her to a pair of chairs set beside a table draped in gauzy silk the colour of a clear sky. On it were placed a carafe and two goblets, and a plate of bread and cheese.

"I thought you might be hungry," Elrond bade her eat as she took her seat. "As I understand, my scouts interrupted your hunt."

"Indeed, they did," Elenor smiled wryly, hoping that the others were not causing too much of a fuss for Melia. "We were hoping to find you, or rather your scouts, anyway. It was a fortuitous chance they came upon us. Our food is almost gone and I do not know how much longer I could have held my people together on this path."

"Yes," and at that, Elrond pierced her with his gaze, keen and merciless. She sat, straight and unbending under his scrutiny, determined not to fail whatever test he had set her. His scrutiny lessened somewhat, but did not lift entirely as he turned away to pour two glasses of some ruby-red liquor. "There are not many mortals who could sense the presence of an Elf who wishes to conceal their presence, not even Dunedain. There is something more to you, my lady."

"Maybe," Elenor murmured, looking down at her hands: callused, dirty and dry from days of travelling and working. "But that is not my reason for seeking you out. At least, not my whole reason."

And so, she told her tale. She told of awaking in the night to the screams and clamour of the attack, the snarls of the Wargs, and the screeches of the Orcs, and the heat of the fire. She told of the defence of the town, the many they had lost, and their escape into the fens. Elrond did not question her but watched her closely as she talked. Several times, she had to stop and take a sip of the wine he had poured for her, delighted by its taste and strengthened by whatever properties it possessed. When at last, she'd come to the end of her tale, the sun was beginning its descent and the sky was darkening.

"Your tale troubles me deeply, my lady," Elrond finally spoke, after long moments of contemplation. "Orcs journeying north, attacking settlements at will, is unsettling news. But what would you have me do for you and your kindred? Why did you come here?"

"To ask for your aid, Lord Elrond. To give us somewhere to rest and to heal, until we can move on and find a new place. I know some wish to travel to Esgaroth, others wish to return to their ancestral homes in Rohan. I know it is a great thing to ask, but please, will you not help us?" Elenor replied firmly and pleadingly, summoning all her courage. Elrond's gaze did not lift from her face, and she fought not to falter under it.

"No, there is more than that. More than just a simple desire to aid your people," he finally spoke, slow and measured, as with a jolt, Elenor remembered her tokens. "The messages spoke of tokens you possessed, that I should see. Where are they?"

Elenor reached inside her jerkin and pulled out the letters, handing them to Elrond, before she lifted the chain, from which dangled her ring, over her head and held it out. "They were passed down to me from my mother. I have no knowledge of my father and it was forbidden to speak of it by my grandsire, Arahael. I do not know why, or how, but I sense the answer is somewhere in those letters. That is why I knew to come here; my mother showed me the words 'Imladris' and 'Lord Elrond' before she died."

"We have always been outcasts, my daughter and I," Elenor continued quietly, now staring out at the weakening sunlight and the valley beyond. "We hoped you could help us find the truth."

She became so engrossed by her surroundings that she missed the look of surprise and shock that flitted over Elrond's face as he perused the letters, and then lifted the ring to the light and examined it closely. When Elenor finally looked back, she could detect no sign of any emotion in Elrond's face but pity. She stiffened, unused to the emotion and unsure whether to dislike or accept it.

"I am not yet sure what this means," he began, clearly measuring his words. "I must examine these further," he gestured with the letters. "As to the question of your people's plight and your request, I shall grant it. You may have lodging and aid within the Hidden Valley. Lindir!"

At Elrond's call, a tall, handsome Elf appeared, clad in robes of deep purple, dark as a sky at sunset, and a scarlet cloak. His dark hair was restrained by a silver diadem fixed across his brow, and his equally dark eyes flicked between Lord Elrond and Elenor curiously. "My lord?" he asked enquiringly.

"We will soon be receiving a large party of guests," Elrond explained. "Arrange food, clothing and shelter for-?" he looked to Elenor questioningly.

"Fifty-nine, including my daughter and I," she said quickly, fearing he would balk at such a number. She glanced at Lindir, but his face was inscrutable. "If I might make a suggestion, my lord?" she waited for Elrond to nod before she continued. "It might be wiser if the townspeople were to be placed away from this house. Knowledge of the Elves was all but forbidden and many superstitions and falsities colour their perception of you. It might be better for all, if we kept some distance."

"There are places in the valley where such an encampment could be made," Elrond inclined his head. "See to it, Lindir. The weather is balmy and pleasant this time of year, you will have little need until we can arrange better accommodations for you."

"As you wish, my lord," Lindir bowed his head, before Elrond stood and Elenor stood also.

"Glorfindel will escort you back to your camp to tell your people. We will expect you at sundown. Until then, my lady Elenor, I have other matters I must attend to," the Elven lord bowed to her courteously, and it was only as he began walking away that she realised he still had the letters and her ring. She almost called out to him, but stopped herself. _He must want to examine them further…_

"My lady?" Lindir's voice, smooth and musical, pierced her reverie and she spun to face him. His dark eyes entranced hers and her breath hitched. His voice was so warm and husky, melodious and inviting, making her think of silken bowers and seducing melodies, and yet in that moment, it was cold and officious. Elenor buried her reaction, wondering at herself, and it pricked her pride. She drew herself up and met him, eye-to-eye. "If you'll follow me?"

He gestured for her to precede him, and as she did so, she felt his hand graze the small of her back. The shock of it almost made her trip up, and she swallowed, tilting her chin defiantly. She glanced at him surreptitiously and was shocked to see him momentarily discomfited as well, staring down at his hand like it was about to burn him. His eyes snapped up to hers, and his coolness returned, a mask dropping down over those beautiful eyes, as Elenor quickly felt herself becoming entranced again. She shook herself free, and continued to walk on, Lindir at her side, a chilly silence between them like a wall of ice.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	3. Chapter 3

Wandering Paths

Warnings: none

Disclaimer: I own nothing except Elenor and Melia.

* * *

Lindir walked beside the mortal woman in a haze of shock and disbelief. That momentary touch had jolted his serenity and he fought for it to return. To distract himself, he thought of all he needed to arrange for their new guests, and the numbers needed to achieve it. They would need shelters of some kind, bedding, supplies of food, clothing and other miscellaneous items. He knew of a suitable site for their temporary camp, on the other side of the river, in a copse of fir trees. The trees would provide shelter and protection from the elements, and they would be close to the river for water.

Nevertheless, as they walked, his hand flexed with the shock of the touch. It had not even been skin-to-skin, and for that Lindir was grateful. He dreaded to imagine what may have occurred had their contact been more profound. _In the name of all that is holy, compose yourself! It was nothing…_

But for all his remonstrating, Lindir could not get the touch of the mortal out of his head. As he continued to lead her down the long corridors of Imladris, he watched her intently from the corner of his eye, noting how she followed his lead even while she walked by his side, matching his movement.

She was beautiful beneath the grime of travel and hard living marring her skin, in that mortal way, he supposed. Her skin was pale with just a flush of pink in her cheek, her deep green eyes watching guardedly out of a well-formed face. She was slender but strong, as his mind insisted on reminding him; he recalled the feel of muscle beneath his palm and the layers of fabric between them. But it was her hair that fascinated him. It was a deep, vibrant shade of red that was rare among the Eldar, like liquid flames draping her back in fiery splendour. At that moment, they were restrained into three braids, falling to the small of her back, but he guessed they were also of that tight, defined curl that was, again, rare among the Eldar.

Her raiment was of deep greens and browns, stained with travel and wear. They also looked old, and while once well-made, Lindir sensed she'd had them long. Her wrists and forearms were clasped in rudimentary leather bracers and an intricately crafted belt was clamped about her narrow waist. She wore a quiver at her back, roughly made and ungraceful, a sword at her hip. But there was something more about her, something less than human, beyond the mundane attributes of her appearance, yet not evil. Lindir was drawn despite himself, like a moth to the flame.

"I would prefer it if you did not stare so, Master Lindir," her voice, low and husky, jolted him from his contemplation, and to his rising horror, he realised he had been staring so overtly she had sensed her gaze. As she stopped and turned to him, a sheepish smile graced her features and she gave a little shrug of her shoulders, dispelling the prideful tone of her previous words. "I am not used to such scrutiny, and have had more than my fill in the last few hours."

"Apologies, my lady," he replied curtly, hiding his unease behind a cool mask of courtesy. "Perhaps you could tell me the number of your people, how many women, children and so on?"

Her lips quirked in a wry smile, and she looked away. "You could have just asked, or is staring an Elvish form of conversation?"

Caught off-guard by her jibe, he stiffened and her smile faded. "Forgive me, I overstep the mark," she breathed, before looking away and resuming their march. "There are twenty-nine women, fifteen children, six boys and nine girls, and sixteen men. Some are wounded; mostly superficial wounds but they need attention. Our only healer died in the fens, and we have been without such aid for a month."

"I will see to it they are tended by our healers, my lady. There will be raiment, food and materials provided for your comfort," Lindir inclined his head. He looked up to see they were nearing the steps down to the entrance of the House where Glorfindel and his guard waited to take Lady Elenor back to her people, and he paused, catching her stare. "And in any case, how could I not stare at one so beautiful as you, my lady?"

She snorted and looked down. "And the tales tell that Elves are so very courteous. A draw, then. Farewell then, for the present, Master Lindir," she retorted calmly, with a tinge of sarcasm, inclining her head gracefully. Her fiery hair caught the light, and it shone like the flames it resembled. As she walked away, Lindir was discomfited to realise that his retort had been less a reply to her jibe, and more a sincere comment on her beauty. Mortal she may have been, but she was undeniably beautiful even by the standards of the Eldar. _And spirited too…_

Lindir caught himself before his thoughts could run away with him, and he swept away to make the arrangements for the arrival of Lady Elenor's people, determined not to think any further of infuriating mortal women.

* * *

From a terrace high above, Elrond watched as the mortal woman bade farewell to Lindir and walked down the steps to meet Glorfindel and return to her people. As she mounted the great Elf-horse, settling into the saddle before Glorfindel with ease, he saw her glance up at him, sensing his scrutiny. Yet another sign she was more than a mere mortal woman.

And if what the letters claimed were true, then she may well be.

As the guard and Elenor cantered out of the courtyard and across the bridge, Elrond allowed his gaze to drift to the letters and the chain still clutched in his hand. The letters could be forgeries or lies, but the ring was harder to discount. He needed to think further on this and discover the truth, if he could. And what to do, if what the letters and the ring claimed was, indeed, the truth.

He studied the design of the ring closely, holding it up to the light once more. This was no forgery at least, and it shone with a pure light in the late afternoon sun. It was a relic of Doriath, an heirloom of the House of Thingol, his own kin. How it came to be in the possession of a mortal woman of Dunedain descent, he could not fathom but the claims of the woman's mother….were almost too impossible to be believed, and they both delighted and grieved him deeply.

As he watched the escort ride away from Rivendell, and disappear into the Valley, he felt Lindir's familiar presence at his side. "Tell me, Lindir. What do you think of our young guest?" he asked the usually perceptive young Elf candidly. As his most trusted advisor and confidant as well as his assistant, he often perceived much about those who came seeking the protection and aid of Imladris. Elrond supposed it was his musician's air and artist's eye that enabled him to see so clearly into the souls and minds of others.

He watched the other Elf intently, as he paused and mused on his Lord's question, his youthful face drawn into a slight frown beneath the silver diadem. His dark hair gleamed in the sunlight, a stark contrast to the muted sombreness of his raiment. He had first taken him into his service after the Last Alliance, when Lindon was devastated by the loss of its King and the few Noldorin who did not immediately leave for the Grey Havens and Valinor came to Imladris under the rule of Elrond. He had proved a wise and trustworthy assistant, and he had become a friend in all the long years of their acquaintance. So the unease and the troubled expression in Lindir's eyes both intrigued and disturbed him.

The Elf was usually so austere and serene, rarely allowing anything or anyone to rattle his calm, and only showed his capacity for mirth and mischief among friends and loved ones. Elrond had often suspected, during Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen's childhoods, Lindir of being a willing accomplice in their youthful pranks when his duties allowed him.

That the mortal had disturbed him boded ill…or perhaps not.

"She is spirited, my lord. Proud, perceptive, unyielding, but quick to appease others, something I sense is not her natural inclination. More, I cannot perceive without knowing her better," Lindir finally offered, his frown deepening. Elrond watched him with interest, amusement creeping in, dissipating his anxiety. "Yet I sense no evil within her or following her. Why do you ask, my lord?"

"I too could sense no evil intent, but her very existence troubles me. I do not yet know who, or what, she is," Elrond sighed, turning away to look out over the horizon of the mountain walls of the Valley. Vilya flashed in the sunlight, a blue star on his finger, and he stared into the jewel's depths contemplatively.

"Then perhaps, it is wiser to help her and so keep her close at hand, until we can discover more," Lindir replied, and Elrond smiled.

"Indeed, _mellon nin_. When did you become so wise?" he turned to the younger Elf in a swirl of robes, a teasing smile on his usually sombre face. A momentary mischievous grin crossed Lindir's features as he turned to follow his Lord back into the house.

"If I am wise, it is only because of your excellent example, my lord," he replied teasingly, but with a tinge of respect in his voice. Elrond smiled and passed into the house with Lindir at his side, to prepare for the arrival of their new guests and to ponder further the question of Lady Elenor.

* * *

It was Elladan who spotted them first. He rose from where he sat by Melia's side, his eyes staring into the distance. "Horsemen approach. It is Lord Glorfindel and your mother," he told Melia, as she scrambled to her feet excitedly, turning to look in the same direction. She could not see as far as he, but her keen eyes saw the flash of the waning sunlight on armour.

"I see them!" she laughed, not noticing Elladan's surprised look. Quickly, she ran across the camp to where Eadwine was resting with Miriel and Daewen, the month-old baby watching her approach with wide blue eyes. "Eadwine, my mother has returned!"

With a kiss on Miriel's head, Eadwine rose and followed Melia back towards the small rise where she'd sat with Elladan, excited whispers rising in their wake from the townspeople. Whatever their misgivings about the Elves, they desperately needed a rest.

Ignoring Eadwine's uncomfortable glance at the tall Elf by her side, Melia smiled as she stood beside him, her golden hair streaming in the breeze as the horsemen came closer and she could pick out the details of their fair faces. And her mother, sat tall and proud atop the lead horse, in the arms of the Elf Melia remembered was named Glorfindel.

"Your mother is smiling. My father must have granted her request," Elladan mused beside her, and she nodded. He turned to her with a smile of his own, and bowed to her. "If so, I look forward to continuing our acquaintance. Until then, I must go now that Glorfindel has returned. I must meet my brother and our warriors patrolling the Northern borders of Imladris," he explained, as Melia felt an unexpected sense of disappointment as she tore her eyes away from her mother to her companion.

"So do I, my lord," she breathed, as he placed a hand to his breast, bowing his head, and then lifted it to her cheek.

"I am Elladan to you, my lady Melia," he replied softly. Several words that Melia guessed to be Elvish spilled from his lips like poetry contained in each single word, and he smiled at her confusion. "May the stars shine on your path," he added, and she inclined her head gracefully.

"And on yours," she whispered, as he turned away, and summoning two of his kindred with a glance, went to the horses on the other side of the clearing and mounted, riding away to the North just as Elenor rode up with her escort. "Mother!"

The older woman slid from the saddle, taking Melia's arms as she rushed to meet her. "Well met, my daughter," she smiled, and Melia's heart leapt.

"You were successful? Lord Elrond has consented to allowing us to stay in Imladris?" Melia asked excitedly; as Eadwine approached on her other side, and she glimpsed the tall, proud, golden Elf join them as well.

"Yes, Melia. Lord Elrond has granted us shelter," Elenor explained, glancing to Eadwine. "What is more, he has agreed to house us away from their main dwelling, so we may have some privacy and peace."

"A wise decision, my lady," Eadwine replied gravely. Elenor's shrewd eyes flew to his face, and then to Melia's questioningly. "There was an altercation earlier, involving Doron…"

"It was nothing, I dealt with it. With Eadwine's help," Melia dismissed it quickly, but Elenor's features did not ease from their troubled mask.

"Is this Doron likely to cause strife while he is with us?" Glorfindel asked, as Eadwine met the Elf's eyes for the first time, his gaze skipping over his fine raiment and weapons. There was a mixture of suspicion, awe and grudging respect there, when he answered him.

"Nay. I'll keep an eye on him and stop him spreading any mischief," he replied coolly, with as much pride as he could muster. He was an honest man of Rohan; he had no cause to be intimidated by this Elf, despite himself.

Glorfindel appeared amused to Melia's watchful eye, as he turned back to her mother, who appeared weary but elated. "We should prepare to leave now. Ready your people, Lady Elenor."

With a few short orders to Eadwine, they were left alone while the people gathered their few meagre possessions and the horses, and Eadwine led Daeroch to Melia and Elenor. Glorfindel's eye roamed over the dark stallion appreciatively. "He is a fine animal, my lady," he breathed.

"He is of Rohirric stock. The foal of my husband's wedding gift to me," Elenor explained shortly, before looking to Eadwine. "You should let some of the children ride him, I can walk perfectly well."

Eadwine sighed, as Melia smirked. "It is only a short distance and they have had a long rest, my lady. It befits your station to ride now," he protested quietly.

"Lady Melia may ride with me, if she so wishes," Glorfindel suddenly offered.

"I would be honoured!" Melia cut in enthusiastically, eying the great Elf-horse with envious eyes.

"Very well," Elenor sighed. "But I will take at least two on Daeroch with me. Send me Barador and Barawen."

"Very well," Eadwine sighed, seemingly knowing when he was beaten. All around them, the townspeople were standing, ready to march, and the two orphaned children Elenor had chosen skipped towards her with expressions of wonder and excitement on their young faces.

With a pat for the stallion, Elenor mounted Daeroch and then helped the children settle themselves with Melia's help. She paused, looking up at her for a moment. "And the other…thing, Mother? Did Lord Elrond say he would help us with that?" she asked, cautious of eavesdroppers. Elenor merely nodded in answer.

With a rising sense of excitement, Melia turned away with a smile from her mother, and went to join Glorfindel with Asfaloth, the Elf going to help her mount until she swung herself into the saddle with ease.

"I am of the Dunedain and the Rohirrim," she said in explanation. "Horses hold no fear for me."

"Indeed," was all the Elf had to say, as he mounted behind her and took up the reins. With a word to Elenor, he turned Asfaloth North, and Melia glimpsed her mother relaying instructions to Eadwine and the others before joining them, the Elves interspersed at intervals among their party so none became lost.

* * *

As they passed from open plains into woodland, and then to the passes of the foothills of the Misty Mountains, Melia looked around her as if in a dream. The closer they came to Imladris, the more golden the light became even as the sun began to sink beneath the horizon. They did not stop for a rest, with the other Elves taking up the children and some of the women on their mounts at the command of Glorfindel.

Her gaze darted sideways to her mother, pensive and silent on Daeroch's back, the children riding with her looking around them with the same excitement and awe that Melia herself felt, but not for the same reasons. They were witnessing the unfolding of things only half-guessed at in old legends and stories by the hearth. With every step, Melia felt a sense of rightness, of fate, guiding her steps, taking her ever closer to a place where her questions might finally be answered.

For the first time in a long time, her mind turned to her father and she sighed heavily. In truth, she felt very little about the spectre that haunted her past; he'd died when she was but a babe-in-swaddling, while out hunting Orcs on the plains south of their fenny country. It had always been her mother and her, outcasts at the behest of her great-grandsire, Arahael. She knew her father, Breyor, had been of the Rohirrim and it was from him that she had inherited her fair skin and hair, but she felt very little kinship with his memory. Elenor had spoken no ill of her husband, but Melia had heard enough, and perceived much, enough to know that her father had not been a good man or a good husband. She was glad, in a way, that he had not the time to prove himself a bad father as well.

And now she had truly left his memory behind. She felt no desire to go to Rohan, to see the plains that had borne him. She already sensed she would never belong there.

She felt a hand on her arm, and glanced over her shoulder to the Elf riding with her. "Look ahead, Lady Melia," he told her. "For soon we shall enter the Hidden Pass, and see the fair Valley of Imladris unfurling before us like a golden flower."

"You never grow weary of it, of your home?" Melia asked curiously. Glorfindel frowned, though a smile remained on his lips.

"Weary? Nay, I could never, for that is the very essence of home," he mused. "At least for now, while I still reside here under the stars."

Melia fell silent at that, musing on her own definition of home. Home had always been the bare walls of their hut, just her mother and her, and the hostility of the townspeople, especially while Arahael had still been alive. For the past month, home had been the open lands and the wide starry skies over her head. But what was her home now? Melia had no answer to that question.

Just then, a shadow fell over her sight, and she looked up to realise they were riding through a tall, stony pass, overshadowed by the rising peaks of the Misty Mountains. She could hear the roar of the falls of Bruinen beside them as they followed the river's course north. All around them, Melia felt a sense of watchfulness and caution, as if the very stones themselves were wary.

Elven sentries, she guessed.

At last the light returned and Melia gasped at the sight before her. Ahead of them, down the winding stone causeway and over a narrow bridge, was the Last Homely House, and the Valley of Imladris. The waterfalls thundered as the river sang beneath them, and the white beams of the great house before them shone in the last rays of the sun. She heard gasps behind her, and guessed that the first of their group had seen it too.

"Come! We are expected!" Glorfindel cried, urging Asfaloth on with a word, and the horse broke into a gentle trot. Daeroch, eager after a month of nothing but walking, sprang forward beside them, making the two children laugh. As Melia glanced at her mother, she saw the pensiveness had eased and now only joy lit her features, her hair aflame around her.

They passed over the bridge and through a gate guarded by two statues carved in the likenesses of Elven warriors, and were met by the figures of several Elves. Melia's eyes drank them in, but were drawn to the tallest and greatest. Clad in bronze robes, his dark hair held by the golden diadem on his forehead, she looked upon Elrond Halfelven, and smiled.

As Glorfindel dismounted, she did also. Elenor dismounted at her side, before lifting the two children down. It was only because Melia was watching Elenor so closely that she saw the shiver that wracked her, as she stiffened, standing from her crouch bent over the children, and turned to meet the Elves as they came towards them.

Melia's eyes darted to the Elves, and immediately spotted the dark-haired Elf stood beside Lord Elrond, in robes of deep scarlet and purple, a silver circlet fixed across his forehead. He was sensually handsome in that way of Elves, and his gaze was fastened intensely on her mother.

One her mother seemed determined to ignore. Wondering if this Elf was the cause of her mother's pensiveness, Melia joined her as Glorfindel and the others led their horses away, and Daeroch and the others were also taken to be bathed and fed.

"_Mae l'ovannen_, Lady Elenor," Lord Elrond spoke, as Elenor inclined her head, before his gaze settled on Melia curiously.

"My daughter, Melia, my lord," Elenor explained, as Melia inclined her head. Lord Elrond smiled and inclined his head to her in return.

"Welcome to Imladris, Lady Melia," he replied gravely, before turning to address the others. "And welcome to you all. We have set up lodging for you all in a clearing on the other side of the river, only moments from where you stand now. You will find food, bedding and raiment waiting for you. If you are wounded or ill, our healers will attend you."

"I thank you, Lord Elrond," Elenor bowed her head again, as Eadwine came to her side. "This is Eadwine. He has been a great help to me in our wanderings."

"I am glad to meet you, Eadwine of Rohan," the Elven lord nodded, and Eadwine nodded back but said nothing. "Lindir will show you to your lodgings."

The dark-haired Elf Melia noticed earlier stepped forward, along with a small group of others. Eadwine went to tell the others with a nod from Elenor, who turned back to Elrond with a questioning look.

"As for you and your daughter, my lady Elenor," the Elven lord continued, with a slight smile. "I wish to extend an invitation to you both, to reside here in my house as my personal guests."

Melia's heart leapt but Elenor hesitated. She almost feared she would refuse, but then she smiled and nodded. "Very well. We would be honoured, my lord," she replied. Elrond gestured for them to precede him up the steps, but not before Melia glimpsed the dark Elf, Lindir, watching them intently, a strange burning in his eyes, and her mother's look back, almost unconsciously, before they ascended the steps with Lord Elrond and those of his retinue who were not showing the townspeople their new lodgings.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	4. Chapter 4

Wandering Paths

Warnings: none

Disclaimer: I own nothing except Elenor and Melia

* * *

As Elenor looked curiously around her rooms, she felt a sense of awe and gratitude. They were simple but elegant, exactly to her taste and positively luxurious compared to what she had been used to.

The high arching ceiling was crisscrossed by wooden beams that shone like silver, while the windows and doors opened out onto a wide terrace, gauzy drapes fluttering in the warm breeze. Elenor inhaled of it deeply as she let her pack and quiver fall from her shoulders, feeling a burden lift from her, and not just from her back but her soul as well. She'd done it, she had found Imladris and brought her people safely to shelter.

Smiling a little, Elenor sat down upon the luxurious bed, still gazing around her in wonder. The mattress beneath her was softer than down, the coverlet of cool golden silk. Behind her, the headboard rose up into the carved figure of an Elven lady, beautiful and serene. Beside her bed stood a small carved table, and an intricately wrought candelabrum, while just across from the room stood two comfortable armchairs before a crackling fire. Through another door, Elenor found several empty chests that she guessed were for clothing, and her bathing chamber.

Just as she was inspecting the bathing chamber more closely, a knock came at her door in the main chamber. She darted back out to open it, revealing a tall slender Elf-maid, with long black hair that covered her back in shadowy splendour. Clothed in bright silks the colour of an unclouded sky, she bore a package in her arms. "_Le suilon_, Lady Elenor. My Lord Elrond sent me to you with this gift and asks you to join him for dinner after you have refreshed yourself," she explained, with a gentle smile, proffering her package.

"Thank you. Tell Lord Elrond I would be delighted," Elenor replied graciously. "What of my daughter, Melia?"

"She is invited also. She is just down the hall, and I believe, she is bathing currently," the Elf-maid bowed slightly, before turning to walk away.

"Wait!" Elenor called, stepping outside her room. The Elf-maid paused. "What is your name?"

The Elf-maid's face brightened, and she laughed. "I am named Faelwen. I shall come to guide you when dinner is ready."

And with that, the Elf-maid was gone as if she had never been there at all. Elenor retreated into her room, laying the package on her bed before unwrapping it tentatively. And promptly gasped when she saw what was inside.

Within lay a square of shimmering silk the colour of a forest meadow, which when she lifted it from its wrappings, unfurled into a beautiful, simple gown of the same style she had seen on the Elven women. Its draped sleeves brushed the floor, gauzy and transparent, while the scooped neckline skirted just beneath her collarbone. It was largely unadorned, but as she inspected it closer, Elenor could make out delicate patterns in the silk, swirling and entwining hypnotically.

Something in her almost baulked at wearing such finery, but it would not do to offend Lord Elrond in refusing his generous gift. With a sigh, Elenor laid the dress down on her bed and began to untangle the lacings of her jerkin. When she was unclothed, she went to her pack and retrieved her comb before stepping into the bathing chamber. _No use wearing such finery if I'm as filthy as a swineherd…_

When she was washed and dressed, she debated what to do with her hair, swiftly drying in the warmth of the summer sunlight. It fell in tight curls to her waist, and she struggled with it for a few moments before simply leaving it be. She had no desire to waste time attempting to re-braid it tonight.

When she was finished, there was no sign of Faelwen, so she slipped from her room, leaving the pile of travel-stained clothing on the floor, determining to ask the Elf-maid where she might be able to wash them when she came for them. In the meantime, she searched for Melia.

She didn't need to go far. Her daughter's room was right next to hers, and as she slipped inside with a knock, she glimpsed her daughter standing outside on the terrace, her golden hair streaming in the breeze, her form draped in silk the colour of the sky at sunset. Elenor stopped, arrested, at the sight of her daughter looking so beautiful and so grown-up, no longer the tiny child she would protect with her life or the mud-splattered young girl who glared with anger and hate at those who had thrown insults their way. She was a woman, and it both warmed and hurt Elenor's heart to realise it.

As she approached, Melia turned to face her and the smile on her face surprised Elenor. It was bright and filled with a joy so fierce, she'd never seen the like of it in her daughter before.

"You look absolutely radiant, Melia," she breathed, a smile of her own dawning.

"I just cannot believe that we are finally here, after so many years of waiting," her daughter replied, taking her hand gently and stroking it. "What did Lord Elrond say of the letters and your ring?"

"Very little, and only that he would investigate further," Elenor shrugged. "For some reason I know not, I find myself trusting him to keep his word."

"That is not like you, Mother, to trust anyone so easily," Melia remarked with a slight smile as she released her mother's hand and sat on the edge of her bed.

"Perhaps it is foolish of me," she sighed, looking down at the intricate patterns of her gown. "But I cannot help it."

Before Melia could reply, a knock came at her door and Faelwen entered, smiling at them both. "Dinner is ready. Come and I will show you to the terrace."

* * *

As Melia and Elenor walked, they both looked around them with wide eyes. They'd seen some of the house when they had been taken to their rooms, but as they were taken ever deeper into Imladris, they comprehended the true size of it. The roar of the falls provided a raging counterpoint to the soft sound of Elves singing, and the sky was now dark, the first stars shining far above.

Everywhere they looked, they saw exquisite works of art covering the walls, cunningly carved and moulded furniture, made to look as if it had been twisted out of the very wood itself, and the few walls that did not display some tableau from the history of Middle-Earth bore shelves upon shelves of ancient books and scrolls. Elenor inhaled deeply, the scent of ink, old parchment, candle wax and a sweet fragrance filling her lungs.

"Faelwen, how many Elves live here?" she asked curiously, spotting a few here and there, walking gracefully through the house and the buildings beyond. But not as many as she'd thought.

"Only about two score of my kin remain in residence where once there were many hundreds," Faelwen explained. "After the Last Alliance, many chose to go to the Grey Havens and sail West. There are only a few places now, in Middle-Earth, where the Eldar may be found in large numbers."

Elenor nodded, saddened slightly by the news. Melia cocked her head, confused.

"The Grey Havens? What are they?" she asked next. Faelwen smiled patiently, and Elenor wondered exactly how many questions the Elf-maid had already answered for Melia.

"The Grey Havens are an Elven sanctuary on the shores of the Great Sea, in the Gulf of Lune. Cirdan the shipwright dwells there still, aiding those who wish to leave Middle-Earth until the last ship sails," the Elf-maid replied softly. "Many of my own kin have already made the journey."

She fell silent after that, and neither Melia nor Elenor asked anything more of her. Finally they came to the main terrace, overlooking the Falls of Bruinen, and the valley before them. A table was set ready, a high-backed chair set at its head, and four smaller seats set on either side. It was piled high with foods, fresh leaves, tomatoes, onions and beans, ripe apples and pears, plump grapes bursting with juice, and loaves of bread fresh from the oven. Elenor could smell them from where she stood at the steps of the terrace.

In the corner, an Elf-maid in golden robes sat plucking at the strings of a harp, seemingly intent only on the music she played but Elenor felt her piercing glance for a moment as she and Melia stepped onto the terrace, and Faelwen left them.

Elrond stepped forward from where he stood at the railing of the terrace, with a courteous smile as he took Elenor's hand. "_Mae g'ovannen_, Elenor and Melia," he said. "Come, eat with me. Tonight you may rest in the knowledge that your people are well-taken care of, and you are safe."

"Thank you, Lord Elrond," Elenor smiled as he led her to the seat on his right, and Melia sat beside her.

"My sons, Elladan and Elrohir will soon be here," he explained further. "Once they have washed and changed. My table is almost full."

"Who else sits here?" Melia asked.

"My daughter, Arwen, usually sits opposite me as the Lady of Rivendell, and before her my wife Celebrian," he replied softly, his face softening slightly. "But my daughter is away in Lothlorien and my wife long ago departed for the Havens."

"I am sorry, I didn't mean to pry-" Melia gasped her apology, as they heard footsteps behind them.

"Nay, young one. I do not take offence. Curiosity is the blessing and the curse of the young and I have raised three children of my own. I am long used to it," he brushed it off, smilingly as he looked to the two tall Elves, alike in almost every way, that hurried down the steps towards them.

"Melia was always insatiably curious as a child," Elenor agreed, smiling herself, watching with interest as one of the two Elven lords brightened at the sight of Melia.

"Lady Melia!" he called, laughing. "I had hoped to see you here. Well met, my friend!"

He grasped her hand, as Elenor and Elrond glanced at one another with warm, secret smiles. The other watched with curious eyes before he spoke. "Come now, brother mine. Do not keep her all to yourself; introduce us!"

"Lady Melia, this uncouth ruffian is my brother, Elrohir. Elrohir, the Lady Melia," Elladan made an elaborate gesture that had both ladies laughing. "And her lady mother, Elenor."

"I am no lady!" Melia laughed. "Just call me Melia, please. It is an honour to meet you, Lord Elrohir."

"And I you, Melia. And if I am to call you such, then you must call me Elrohir," the other twin replied courteously. Elladan merely rolled his eyes before he bowed over Elenor's hand gallantly.

"I did not have the chance of making your acquaintance properly this afternoon, my lady. It is an honour to meet a lady so valiant and hardy," he told her, and Elenor smirked.

"I see you have inherited your father's gallant tongue," she replied smartly, and he grinned mischievously.

"Come now, my sons," Elrond called from his chair, smiling at their antics. "Let the two ladies alone to eat, and come report to me what you found on our Northern borders."

The two brothers sat opposite them, and the four set to their dinner. Despite the lack of meat, Elenor and Melia were well-satisfied, as they ate but remained silent, listening to Elrond and his sons as they discussed the patrols of Imladris' borders.

There was apparently little to report. There were signs of Troll movements close to the Ettenmoors, and traces of Orc-packs within the region but far from the borders of Imladris. Elenor was relieved there appeared to be little sign of pursuit from the pack that had attacked and destroyed their town. She'd suspected as much from their own patrols while journeying north, but it was a relief to know they had not been tracked. Nonetheless, a desire for vengeance burned in her heart, and she knew the men would not rest easy until they had avenged their homes on the Orcs too.

Finally, as the table was being cleared and small plates of honey cakes and herbed water were set out, Elrond turned his attention to Melia and Elenor. "I must not neglect my guests," he said with a strange smile. "How do you find your rooms?"

"Beautiful, my lord," Melia replied easily enough.

"You have been very generous to us, my lord," Elenor added with a slight smile. "After dinner, I wish to go down and see how the townspeople are faring, if that is permitted?"

"You are permitted anywhere, Elenor," he stated firmly. "You are guests here, not prisoners. You may go where you please."

"I am sure Lindir would be only too happy to show you to the encampment after dinner," Elladan added. "And on the morrow, we must see about arranging more raiment for you both. Perhaps one of the seamstresses could be persuaded to take your measurements before you both retire."

"Oh, truly there is no need!" Elenor protested, though politely. "Your generosity warms my heart, my lords, but I cannot presume so much and I have no way of paying for such luxuries-!"

"As I have said and will keep saying, my lady Elenor," Elrond interrupted her sternly. "You are our guests and you shall be treated as such. There will be no payment required other than that you accept my generosity and are happy with them. I need nothing else."

Elenor felt Melia's amused glance as she gaped at Elrond, her jaw slack. Very few had shown such generosity to them before, and without apparent thought. _He must want something for such kindness!_

Outwardly though, she said nothing, merely nodded and looked down. Melia chuckled. "My lord Elrond, I do think that is the first time anyone has ever struck my mother speechless," she said laughingly, yet her eyes were sad. She knew her mother's mind and privately wondered why she was less sceptical and suspicious than her mother. Was it because she was young and had more hope?

The twins laughed but Elrond merely regarded Elenor gravely, with a gentle smile. "It is clear that you know little of common kindness, my lady," he murmured to her. "You will learn much of it here in Imladris, I promise you. I shall treat you as one of my own kin."

"You humble me, my lord," she sighed, her eyes bent on the tablecloth.

"Now my dear Melia, we are quite neglecting you!" Elrohir said quite jovially. "It is growing late and you must be weary, but if you are willing, my brother and I would be delighted to show you Imladris in the moonlight. By day it is beautiful, but by the light of the moon and stars, it is without compare."

"I am not weary and I would be glad to. If I may, Mother?" she looked to the older woman questioningly, but she just smiled and nodded.

"You do not need my permission for this, Melia," she reminded her gently. "You are grown now. Do as you please, within reason," she added, sternly. Melia rolled her eyes as the twins rose and begged leave of their father. Elrond gave it, and the three rose and disappeared into the house. Elrond poured Elenor more wine, and they took their goblets and went to the railing, the music of the harp still echoing softly around them.

* * *

As Elrond watched the young mortal woman in the moonlight, he noticed her gaze resting on the harpist in the corner, almost yearningly, and finally decided to ask a question that had been plaguing him for some time. "My lady, there is something about your story that has been puzzling me," he began carefully, as her gaze swung to him questioningly.

"What is it? I swear, I will do all I can to explain," she replied firmly, and he noted the slight evasion. He was not certain why he had not noticed the discrepancy in her story earlier, but the shock of her claim and her tokens had driven it momentarily from his mind.

"You claim the letters bear some secret you know not, yet you knew to come to Imladris. How did you know that but not the secret the letters bear?" he asked, and she looked away and he was surprised to see shame in her face.

"My grandsire, Arahael," she began haltingly. "I do not know for certain, but he seemed…determined to keep any knowledge of my heritage from me. He forbade my mother from telling me and it was only on her deathbed when he could do no more to harm her that she told me what she could. I cannot know the secret, my lord, because I do not know how to read."

Elrond stared at her, his mind reeling. What newborn hatred had driven one of the Dunedain to do something so cruel? To deny a child the knowledge of her heritage, to use barbarity to keep it from her? "You know nothing of the Elvish scripts or runes?" he asked for clarification. She shook her head, her cheeks red with embarrassment as she kept her gaze focussed far away from him.

"I learned only one scrap of song in Elvish, and I have no idea what it means in the Common Tongue," she told him stiltedly. "My lord, I apologise for my ignorance. Had it not been for the tyranny of my grandsire, I assure you it would not exist otherwise."

"And Melia?" he asked, feeling anger brewing in his heart but he kept it bound in chains. His anger was not with the woman standing beside him, but with the brute who had denied his own granddaughter something so wonderful and expansive as knowledge.

"She cannot either. My late husband thought it useless for a maid to know her letters, as is the way of the Rohirrim I am told, and my great-grandsire forbade her learning anyway," Elenor answered, honestly. "Are you so displeased, my lord?"

Elrond sighed. "Not with you or yours, my lady. It is a crime to let such ignorance and hatred deny others of something so fundamentally natural as reading and writing. I would rectify that, if you wish it. For you and your daughter?"

"Y-you would teach us to read and write?" Elenor was stunned and for a moment, speechless. Tears started in her eyes and she dashed them away angrily. "Truly, lord, you are too generous."

"Nay, Elenor," he reached out and tilted her chin up, his eyes kind and sad. "It is no trouble and it is your right to knowledge, a right that was denied. I am rectifying that crime," he explained softly, releasing her chin. "That answers the riddle of the letters, then. If so, I could translate and read them aloud to you or you could wait and read them when you have learned to do so yourself?"

"Will they tell me who I am?" Elenor asked, still quiet and angry with herself at her weakness, still wary.

"Nothing and no one may do that, except your own heart, my lady Elenor," Elrond answered candidly. "But they may provide some clues to your existence. I have some researches of my own to do, to discover the truth of the claims, which may take some time but I can read them to you now if you so desire?"

Elenor thought for a moment, before she shook her head slowly. "Nay," she whispered. "I do not wish to read tales better-suited for a campfire if your researches are proved fruitless. I will wait and when you tell me if they are true or not, then I will read the letters. Until then, my daughter and I will accept your offer of tuition."

"Excellent," her host smiled, inclining his head once more. "I will arrange it on the morrow. When you are rested from your journey, you may begin your studies."

Despite her frustration and anger, mostly with herself, Elenor felt a thrill of excitement flow through her veins like an icy wave.

* * *

That night, she was pleased to discover the townspeople contented and well-cared for when she visited the encampment, only a short walk from the entrance of Imladris. They had plentiful supplies of food and clothing, plain and simple but well-made and warm, and comfortable bedding. The nights were warm and Elenor did not fear for them in their stubborn suspicion of the Elves.

They'd regarded her suspiciously too, in her Elven dress, but she could not care less. She had brought them to Imladris, and she was free of the effect of their suspicion now. They no longer had any hold on her.

Before she'd retired, two Elves had taken her measurements for her new raiment, and promised her they would have it for her within a day. They'd even asked her preference for colours and patterns, which had flustered and confused her. She was not used to such luxury or choice.

After that, she had dressed in a simple shift she'd found in place of the pile of dirty clothing she had left, and slipped into Melia's room to find her daughter already asleep. She had slipped into her bed and held her while she slept, stroking her moonlight-silvered hair as she clung to her in sleep, before finally drifting off herself, to the sound of soft singing and the music of the falls.

* * *

A peaceful week passed, with Elenor making regular visits to the encampment to check on her people and ensure they wanted for nothing, but it seemed the Elves were generous despite the coldness and suspicion of the townspeople. Just a week later, and she could already see some colour returning to the cheeks of the children as fear and tribulation began to fall away and health slowly returned. Doron and his cronies made little trouble, seemingly too awestruck and fearful of their surroundings to bother, and for that Elenor was grateful although she doubted it would last.

As for Melia, Elenor noticed she was blossoming, as if the very air of Imladris had made her shine. She already looked fuller of figure, and her bones no longer stood out so starkly. She noticed she spent much time with the sons of Elrond as they showed her the Valley and ensured she learned her way around.

As the week passed, Elenor almost thought that Lord Elrond had forgotten about his promise about tuition, but it was not so. On the seventh day since they had reached Imladris, Elenor was accosted in the gardens by a tall, dark Elf who bowed to her respectfully.

"_Mae l'ovannen_, Lady Elenor," he murmured quietly. "I am Erestor, of the House of Elrond, and Keeper of the Libraries of Imladris. My lord has recruited me to become your tutor. I hope that is acceptable?"

"Indeed, Master Erestor," Elenor inclined her head, deeply honoured. "I am looking forward to your lessons. When shall we start?"

Erestor laughed, his hair flashing in the sunlight. "So eager!" he teased her softly, his eyes reassuring her he meant no slight. "From tomorrow then, meet me in the south library at the hour after noon. We will work until dinner," he continued, as they paused at the doors of the great house, and Elenor shivered as she felt a familiar gaze on her face, but when she looked up into the shadows of the gables, she could see nothing.

"Thank you, Master Erestor," Elenor inclined her head in parting as the Elf left her, before she once again scanned the shadows, looking for the owner of the eyes watching her every move. But she saw nothing, even though she sensed his scrutiny.

She did not know why the dark Elf who assisted Lord Elrond seemed set on watching her so closely. He mystified her, since they had barely exchanged more than a few words since her arrival, and yet she felt drawn to him. A physical tug in his direction that made her wary and determined to resist. He was of the Eldar, and she had long learned to distrust the motives of men. She did not doubt that male Elves were not all that dissimilar, despite her instinctive familiarity with them and their world.

With a sigh, she entered the house and tried to put him from her mind as she went to seek her daughter.

* * *

Lindir found himself watching the mortal woman yet again. In her simple green gown, she was unremarkable yet he could not tear his eyes away. He felt almost possessive of her, despite barely knowing her and knowing he had no right to such feelings. Her mortality, which should have repelled any such foolish flight of feeling, only made him seemingly more desperate to keep her in his sight, for the fleeting instant of life she possessed. He barely knew her, but he was drawn to her, and it greatly disturbed him.

With a sigh, Lindir resolved to learn more of the mortal woman, if he could not maintain his distance. He needed to find some opportunity to learn more of her, and since Erestor had taken the role of tutor, he began seeking some other way to know her, in his mind. Hopefully, such knowledge would allow his fascination to fade.

* * *

Yet another thing happened that day to disturb Elenor. When she returned to her rooms, it was to find new raiment ready for her but also a box containing intricately carved pieces of jewellery, golden diadems that would stand out against her red waves, and golden chokers inlaid with shining amber-hued gems. The raiment was beyond anything Elenor had ever seen.

There were breeches, jerkins and cloaks in shades of deep greens and browns, including her old gear all mended and re-stitched, but in such a way that they almost looked like different garments. There were new boots in the Elven style, and one suit of practical travel gear was of a deep red hue, accented with silver bracers and a belt made of some shining metal that Elenor had never seen before.

And then there were the gowns. Made of silk so pure, it felt like water in her hands, they were many coloured and patterned in hues of blue, green, red and dark purple, all to her modest taste and desire, but two stood out from the rest and caught her eye. One was a pale blue with an underlay of deeper hue, like forget-me-nots against a clear summer sky. It was simple and unadorned, but elegant, seemingly finished with a golden girdle, rippling like water to the floor.

The other was of a dark indigo, sheer and weightless, over an under-gown of amethyst patterned with white. The overlay held no decoration but two swirling silver motifs on the long, trailing sleeves, and a dark blue belt. Oddly enough the blue felt too special for ordinary wear, and as Elenor tried the purple gown, and it fitted like a glove, she felt yet again that inexplicable surge of homecoming, as she turned to the mirror and stared at herself.

She couldn't tear her eyes away.

"Mother?" Melia's soft voice broke though her reverie, and she spun, her jaw dropping when she saw her daughter. Melia was gowned in softest pink, like the petals of a rose newly unfurled. The trailing sleeves was bound at her upper arm, falling away to reveal even longer sleeves underneath in the darkest shade of pink Elenor had seen, like the corona of the sun at its setting, her narrow waist accentuated by a wide, long sash patterned with flowers. A necklace of gold and rubies sat at her throat, artfully woven to look like the trailing branches on which flowers bloomed, and her golden hair was long down her back.

Melia stopped too, seemingly struck at the sight of her mother looking so elegant, and her eyes brightened. "There's just one thing missing," she muttered firmly, her eyes going to the box on Elenor's bed. Her eyes alighted on the choker with amber gems, and she snatched it up before Elenor could protest, fixing it around her neck.

"We cannot possibly accept these gifts," Elenor breathed, still in disbelief. "Lord Elrond is truly being too generous."

"Oh, Mother stop it!" Melia's firm command shocked her out of her disbelief, and she stared at her incredulously. Melia was unyielding as she eyed her parent narrowly. "You always look for the ulterior motive in things such as these, but this time, there are none. It is simply the Elvish way, and from the look of things, you've already accepted them. Now come, dinner is nearly ready I think, from what Elladan told me."

* * *

Elenor was still too shocked by her daughter's stern criticism to speak much at dinner, as she considered what her daughter had said. Was she being too cautious, too wary? Could it be that she was wrong?

Or was Melia being too impulsive and trusting?

True enough, Lord Elrond had refused to listen to anything Elenor said about their new raiment and the gifts, saying it was merely the Elvish way, and of the Noldorin in particular, to see thing they had wrought worn and used, rather than frittered away jealously, and that the jewel wrights who made them would have been pleased to see their work so cherished and displayed. After that, Elenor had given up and merely listened to Melia talk excitedly with Elladan and Elrohir of the archery fields and the weapons forges they planned to show her tomorrow.

She felt Lindir's gaze upon her once more, but refused to show her susceptibility to it.

* * *

Later that night, she went walking in the gardens under the moonlight, feeling oddly desolate that once again, Melia was gone on some errand with the sons of Elrond. She briefly thought of seeking the company of Eadwine, Miriel and Daewen down at the encampment, but dismissed it. She did not belong there, either.

As she walked under the blossoming trees, she began to sing softly, the tiny scrap of Elvish she knew. It told the tale of Beren Erchamion and Lúthien Tinuviel, to a small degree, and she found some comfort in its lilting strains, memories of her mother singing it to her at night warming her, as she walked under the stars.

A cool voice interrupted her singing, as she spun to face her intruder. "You sing well and with feeling, but no technique. You have never been taught anything of music, it is clear."

She didn't relax as Lindir came closer, his face oddly open and inviting that night, instead of the icy reserve she usually saw in him. "Master Lindir, you startled me," she breathed, standing tall and proud before him. She was almost as tall as he. "And here I thought we'd dispensed with such Elvish traditions as staring?"

Lindir noted she was less wary of him now, less careful of being polite, and it pleased him more. He smiled as he stepped forward to her side. "I heard you singing from the terrace and came to investigate," he lied smoothly. "I know Erestor has claimed your afternoons to teach you to read and write. What of your morning hours?"

Elenor stared at her, wide-eyed. "What are you about?" she asked, warily.

"I merely wished to ask if you would like to explore your voice, and music, further," he replied softly. He met her eyes unblinkingly, as if to communicate that he meant her no harm, as one does to a horse wild with suspicion and fear. It both riled and soothed Elenor, a contradiction that both confused her and made her suspicious. But she was tempted…

She looked up suddenly, realising she had looked down in her ruminations, and was startled to find Lindir standing so close to her. A warm haze was over his dark eyes, and his smile was free and unguarded. It sent a drop of warmth to ripple down her spine and pool in her abdomen, and she mentally cursed her susceptibility. "I will come to you after breakfast," he said, gently but firmly. "I have much to teach you."

"I had not accepted," she retorted, regaining some of her backbone and bristling.

"Then you wish to decline my offer?" he asked in reply, frowning slightly and she was surprised to detect disappointment in his eyes, unfeigned and there for her to see.

"I did not say that," she whispered. "I am tempted but…I do not know what to make of you, Lindir."

She paused, for a moment, thinking. It was true she had little to do, and she chafed at the hours she was idle. If Melia had found something in this Valley to occupy her time, why not Elenor?

As for her susceptibility, maybe proximity and time would dispel it. She mentally nodded to herself, and adopted a gracious, grateful smile in Lindir's direction. "Very well, I accept. I will wait for you after breakfast," she promised, before bidding him goodnight and escaping his sensuous gaze before she lost her reason.

She did not hear his belated, thoughtful reply to own comments about not knowing what to make of him. "Nor I you, my lady," he whispered. "Nor I you."

* * *

_To be continued..._


End file.
